


With Music and Candlelight

by orphan_account



Category: The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance (TV)
Genre: Did I mention Dubious Consent?, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Painful Sex, Power Imbalance, Size Difference, this is awful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:34:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23949958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The Ritual Master comforts Seladon in the aftermath of Mayrin's murder.
Relationships: Seladon/skekZok (Dark Crystal)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 19





	With Music and Candlelight

**Author's Note:**

> So there were conversations on Tumblr about what a creep skekZok is with Seladon right after Mayrin's murder.
> 
> No proofreading, and if there are any errors, well, not like I can go back and fix them, guess I'll just die.

"See that the traitors are secured," the Ritual Master instructed the General. "I will attend to the All-Maudra."

Seladon was grateful for the Lord's hands on her, as they were surely the only thing keeping her upright. With one hand he gripped her arm, while the other pushed in the small of her back, guiding her out of the throne room and down the halls of the Citadel. Her mind was spinning with all that had happened, events which still didn't feel real. It wasn't until they stopped to open the great double doors that she realised where he had brought her, and she froze in the entryway.

"This," she said, stumbling over the words, "this is my mother's chamber."

"No," the Ritual Master corrected her, "this is the All-Maudra's chamber."

He steered her across the antechamber, past the table where Mayrin's things still lay scattered, into the bedchamber beyond. Already the servants had been through here, tidied the sils and turned the bedding. It could have been any other day, her mother simply stepped out to hand off another report to a courier, she would be back in a moment, she only needed to wait—

The sound of the door closing made Seladon jump, and she turned to find the Ritual Master moving toward her, his form impossibly huge in the small room. His eyes roved across her body, the edges of his beak curling in a queer smile, and Seladon fought back the treacherous shudder that threatened to roll through her.

"Your dress," he commented, "it's stained." Seladon looked down and saw that, indeed, he was correct: her front was splotched with pink, her skirts nearly bathed it in, turning the blue a morbid purple. She recalled how the stains had gotten there, kneeling in a puddle of warmth that should never have been on the floor, it didn't belong outside of a person, in, inside, it needs to be—

"Let's get you out of those clothes, hmm?"

One by one the layers of Seladon's dress were unwound and removed, left in a pile next to the bed. There would be no cleaning them, she knew; all the soap in Thra couldn't wash her mother away. It would have to be burned.

 _'Oh,'_ she thought as the Ritual Master began lifting her shift over her head, _'yes, of course.'_

A moment later she stood shivering and bare, unable to remember what had occurred to her just then.

"You have been most generous, My Lord," she said, amazed she even remembered how to speak. "I think I would like to rest, now. I will not keep you any longer."

But the Ritual Master did not leave.

"Why, my dear—I simply cannot leave you in such a state!" His hands were on her again, trailing whorls across her collar. "That would be simply irresponsible of me. No, I will stay, and attend to you in this...troubling time." His eyes slipped from her face to her chest, and then lower, even as he had to crane his head backward to see her.

"It would be my pleasure to honour you with my comfort."

His tongue slithered out from his beak, licking a lewd stripe across his teeth, and the implication of his words crashed into Seladon so wildly that she nearly physically stumbled, jerking herself from his grip. The Ritual Master drew back, eyes wide with hurt and confusion.

"Now, sweet child! Surely you wouldn't refuse an offer from a Lord of the Crystal?" He stared down at her, clearly expecting a reply, yet Seladon couldn't force one past the lump in her throat. After a moment he sighed, and drew away.

"I suppose there is no helping it," he lamented. "It is no matter, child; I should not have asked so much of you." He made as though to leave, reaching one-handed for the door; his fingers curled around the polished handle.

"You are your mother's daughter, after all."

The alarm that seized Seladon at those words was like a bolt of lightning, and she nearly lunged across the room in her desperation to stop the Ritual Master from leaving. His eyes turned back to her, startlingly blue, and they pinned her in place like a needle through a unamoth.

"My Lord," she gasped out, pleading with eyes and voice, "I—I beg your forgiveness, for my disrespect. I would be honoured to enjoy your company."

Something in the Ritual Master's eyes warmed yet did not soften, a spark there that flickered in warning.

"Of course you would." He released the door handle, and Seladon sagged in relief as he pulled her back toward the centre of the room. "You are nothing like your late mother, are you? You are a true All-Maudra, one who knows her place. You are loyal."

 _Loyal Seladon_. Yes, that was who she was. The Ritual Master gathered her in his arms, claws raking light scratches across her flesh.

"Here," he crooned, "allow me to take your mind from your ordeal."

The hands that stroked her were cold and withered, and she hated how she flinched from them. He pushed his claws into her every crevice, ran his tongue along every line and shape. He laid her back on the bed, and when she turned her head into the pillow, she smelled her mother.

The pain when he entered her was great enough that Seladon screamed, arching off the bed in agony. The Ritual Master fell to shushing her, crooning soft words of praise, how magnificent she was, how loyal, how well she had done to take him. Every slide of his length inside her was another grinding wave of torment, and Seladon found herself clutching the front of his robes, sobbing wretchedly at the onslaught—the misery that had begun in the throne room and carried her here, to plague her with a treasonous desire for its end.

She wondered what Brea was doing, now.

It was over abruptly, or perhaps Seladon simply hadn't been paying attention, too absorbed in her own selfish thoughts to attend to her Lord. With a heavy groan he finished inside her, his eyes rolling back in his head until the blue disappeared and all Seladon could see was their sickly, yellowed whites. His tongue lolled out from his open beak, curling and dripping drool onto her as he thrust a few more times, spending all of his burden into her; then he slumped forward, lapping the tears from her cheeks, dry and damp alike, with long, curling strokes.

"Oh, you are _wonderful_ ," he moaned in her ear. "I believe I'm going to enjoy you, All-Maudra."

It wasn't until after he had left that Seladon realised she had forgotten to thank him.


End file.
